


Memento Vitae

by ThePostalDude



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: More characters will be added soon! - Freeform, Other, Theres not a lot to tag, blurbs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 14:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17664572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePostalDude/pseuds/ThePostalDude
Summary: What were they like before? And what do they remember of before? Are hunters born with blood on their mouths? Do they even miss their old lives?Outside of their trials, away from pulse-pounding violence and screams and blood rushing in their ears, they sit and think. And sometimes, they do remember.





	Memento Vitae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What made Anna seek out little girls and their company?

     The wind was whipping and howling outside again this night. That wasn’t too concerning to you; this cabin was built to keep the chill out and other such things, and you? You were wrapped up plump and snug in furs in your chair by the fire. You wouldn’t even think of the cold if it didn’t call at all hours of the night. What really called for your attention was the wailing in the corner. A weeping girl barely coming up to your knee. She was a feeble and shivering thing you had picked up a few weeks ago. You couldn’t understand much of what had her so upset. When you raided a small cabin on the edge of the prairie a few miles out, she had ran to you and hid her face in your leg for reasons unknown to you. Now she seems to have changed her mind in face of the harsher conditions of your home.

     What made the thing cry? You gave her furs and fire, had plenty of food stockpiled this lucky winter, and even had many toys. She was a lucky thing; one you’ve taken late in your search, so there was plenty to entertain her after your many excursions compared to when you first started. At this point in time though, her tears had run dry; she only really wailed like she was in pain.

 

     You’ve come to realize that out of the many children you’ve taken, most have understood you. You weren’t one much for talk. It was easy to tell a child what to do with gesture alone. Point at the bed for bed, put food in front of them, dangle toys in front of them. Only some ever needed to hear your scarcely-used voice. Some you even sang to. But tonight, not even your humming by the fire could put this one to sleep. So you had to  _ really _ think about this one. She was dressed, fed, and couldn’t sleep.

 

     You excitedly sat up when you thought of an idea. The little thing curled away from your hands but barely moved far enough to escape your hug before being pulled into your lap on the arm chair. She was frightfully hot and sweating, and yet shivering… and breathing hard. You had only the vaguest memories of the reason for this, but it was mostly pushed out of your mind by your answer to the previous problem of her not sleeping: a bedtime story would suffice! It’s what your mother always did when you wouldn’t sleep.

     What story did you tell? Your voice was scratchy and grave, but the girl actually looked at you with a cloudy look of understanding instead of the usual fear at the sound of your voice. Without really thinking first, you spoke of your mother. You would both know of mothers, and that definitely grabbed her attention. You told her of how she was a powerful woman and towering. You would guess even now she would be bigger than you. You tell the little girl how she built this cabin herself, and the smoke house out back, and how just almost everything in here was made by her hands. What wasn’t made by her, was made by you because she taught you. The little girl was quiet now, almost listening intently. This excited you; others would cry and cry until they stopped, but this one listened.

 

     You told her stories of your mother through most of the night. You interjected with tales your mother told you when you were a little one, now passing onto the little girl. And of the little but great time you spent together. You spoke of missing the times when you were small and you and your mother would steal away to the meadow in the spring and make braids of flowers. Or when she would pretend to be a big animal and lightly wrestle with you in the yard. Those were in such short times though. Everything your own mother told you and taught you was so long ago before you were up to  _ her _ knee. You couldn’t speak more of that. Instead you ended on one of her favorite jokes. She would always tell you that if she didn’t have a little daughter like you, she would have turned into a mama bear and would have had to sleep in a cave. That always managed to make you giggle.

     You tell the girl the same; you don’t know what you would do with yourself if you didn’t have a little one of your own. Maybe you would turn into a big wolf, looking for pups. Or a mother hare. Mother hares always had many children! You finished your laughing and looked down at her, the little girl finally quiet. No, not little girl. Your own little daughter, sleeping soundly with barely a breath on her lips. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself before falling asleep too. Maybe this time it could work. You’ve come to find out being a mother was hard, but maybe this time you did something right.

     It was barely morning when your little daughter had succumbed to her fever.


End file.
